Time has become my greatest affliction. When it seems like the clock strikes three, it strikes four, five, six. As this world spins on its invisible spine and time warps as fast as it spins, I float between the hands of a fraction of a second, or a fraction of a minute, or a fraction of an hour. And I move slowly. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an Original Essay My affliction lies in the claws that rake down my spine as time tears me away from what is most important. It becomes painful. A sting of tears tapping with my wrist. I will not let it affect me, however, because I know that time is real, and reality is time in real time, but really, what is real time and what has become my reality through the endless ticking of the hands of a analog clock? Where do my feet take me when my mind can't finish this eternal race against... time? Time is related to impatience as impatience is related to anxiety that does not cease. In that case, this anxiety is mine, this impatience is mine, and the time is mine. But is it really, if it will never be at hand for proper modification? Why can't I touch the grandfather clock? What he perceives is the end, which is actually not the end of time, but of its hand? When an hour aligns with a sunbeam, there is a different point where an hour aligns with the peak of the moon. The familiar tingle of a passing second followed by an anxiety that leaves me hanging on the edge of what once was and what could have been begins to paralyze me. Fear makes me shiver, because I ask, “Do I have enough time?” And when there is no answer to this endless question, I ask myself: “when will it end? When will my clock stop ticking?” As I move through the possibilities and randomness of time, my heart follows a song that echoes softly at the end of a corridor; its end falls into an abyss of darkness where time, space and randomness all become relative. I walk, I walk, I walk... but where is this melody taking me? Where should I go when there are chains dragging at my feet, enveloping me in a swampy anxiety that won't go away. Even when there's a day where my thoughts aren't exploring the untold stories of possibilities, I still feel this tension in my chest, not only pushing me forward but also backwards. Please note: this is just an example. Get a custom article now from our expert writers. Get a Custom Essay The truth is, there is no conclusion to my expedition, nor to yours, nor to ours. The truth is that we are all a people controlled by the essence of what time is, was, and will be. We are all driven by the constant need to be punctual, methodical and efficient, and let me ask: why? What will be your punishment for lack of direction? Is there anything so unfair about straying from the beaten path, despite the anxiety, despite the impatience, despite our desire to move with the times? You will be the judge of your serendipity. Remember this, remember my words and remember that you are your own torchbearer.